There's a Line
by katbybee
Summary: Summary: Okay, this is something very different for me. Be warned it is dark. Major Character Deaths. Ambiguous POV in the first chapter. Let me know who you think it is… UUD Thanks as always to Xav as my beta and to Wolfchild81 for wanting more...
1. It Begins

**Summary: ** Okay, this is something very different for me. Be warned it is dark. Major Character Deaths implied…. Ambiguous POV in the first chapter. Let me know who you think it is… UUD

**Chicago, IL 1999**

He sat at the table reading over his list. He really had no need, as he had memorized every name on it several years ago. But it was more of a habit by now than anything… sort of a ritual. He sighed as he leaned back and ran his hands through his hair. He grimaced as he noticed they were shaking slightly. _Adrenaline let-down, maybe?_ He picked up the pen and crossed another name off the list. _Twelve more. Twelve more and his team could rest in peace._

Late that night, he lay on the bed in his safehouse, far away from where they would find the body. They always did. And they were always mystified as to how the victim ended up dead… sometimes throat slit, sometimes with a bullet between the eyes, sometimes neck snapped... lying in a densely populated area, with absolutely no clues left behind as to the killer. He was sure he would eventually be caught. He had no problem with that. He just wanted to finish crossing off all the names on his list first. He figured he needed two more years. If he had not been caught by then, well, one never knew… did they?

He reflected, as he sometimes did, on all that had happened over the past five years, how it had all gone so horribly wrong, and on the last time they had all been together. On how his best friend had eventually died in his arms…

He had not chosen this life. _There's a line. They_ had crossed it. _They_ had chosen this. And he would not rest until every one of the people responsible for the deaths of his team were wiped off the face of this earth.

**Los Angeles, CA, 1994**

It would have been easier to bear, perhaps, if the night before the mission hadn't been his birthday. They got together at a local tavern and knocked a couple back, although none of them drank very much, as they did not want to be nursing hangovers during a mission. But they had a good time tossing some darts and just enjoying each other's company. They stayed fairly late, and it was the most relaxed he could remember ever seeing the others. It was a memory he would always treasure, even though at the same time, it tore him up inside every time he thought about it. He missed them so damned much!

The trap had caught them all by surprise. He never really knew the details of the massive plot, or exactly how they caught the others, or why he had avoided it. _Fate, apparently._ His best friend was gravely wounded and not exactly coherent. He wasn't even sure how he managed to escape his captors. But he got away, and that was the important part. He identified every last one of those involved in the plot… because he was smart, you see-much smarter than most people gave him credit for. He was grief-stricken, because the other two were already dead… had been killed trying to help him escape. But he had made it… and brought the intel to his best friend… and so they hadn't died in vain.

He did everything he could to keep his best friend alive, but they both knew it just wasn't going to be enough. They'd both seen it before-there would have been no point in calling a doctor. And so, in the end, it was the way it had always been with them. They held onto each other, and he swore to his dying brother that he would get them all. He would get revenge for the team. And even though his brother said he shouldn't, he knew he'd do the very same thing. And so they held each other through the long, cold night… and by dawn, he was gone.

For two years after their deaths he had gone to ground. Let them relax. Lulled them into a false security. And then his hunt had begun. Six per year. Exactly six-no more, no less. It was important they realize they were being hunted. That they know fear… that they never know when the next one of them would fall. And fall they did… six per year, at random intervals. And though they sent assassins to try to take him out, it was like hunting a ghost.

**New York City, 2001**

He smiled grimly. One more name. Just one. He stared at the list. This one was going to be trickier. The guy had made quite a name for himself as a hot shot stockbroker, and worked his way to the top of the food chain. His intel said he almost never left his office way up in the building he worked in. That was okay. Stealth was easy. He just had to be careful… get in and get out. He spent the long elevator ride thinking about what to do after he crossed this guy's name off his list. And suddenly, he was terribly lonely. His purpose in life had become avenging his brothers. After today… what would he have? He shook the dark thoughts away and concentrated on his mission.

The elevator opened onto his floor… and he headed silently towards the office in the far north corner. Suddenly there was a deafening, thundering cacophony of sound and all hell broke loose. There was chaos and screaming and smoke and flames. He had no idea how hell had just opened up to swallow them whole. As he fell, and then staggered to his feet, he realized that somehow… he was pretty sure his mission had succeeded.

**~TBC~**


	2. Memories

New York City

The Hospital

He wasn't sure what caught his attention… but he was suddenly aware of the sounds around him. They were vaguely familiar, but the darkness was comfortable and he really wasn't interested in waking up. One sound in particular grew louder and more insistent, and it began to annoy him. He frowned at the pesky beeping and tried to bat it away. He didn't understand the sudden frenzy of voices and footsteps that his actions set off, but that was okay. He figured someone would explain it to him later… maybe… or maybe he'd just go back to sleep… yeah… sleep… good plan…

His plan was spoiled almost immediately when a shadow loomed directly over him and a loud male voice called out, "Sir, can you hear me? Sir, can you open your eyes? Sir, open your eyes!"

The voice was a lot worse than the beeping and he intended to let them know about it. "Buzz off." He was surprised at how raspy his voice was and how dry and sore his throat was. But judging by the chuckles he heard coming from around him, he had made his point. He cracked his eyes slightly and was further annoyed when the shadow shined an overly bright light directly into his eyes. This time, he did bring his left hand up and bat the offending light away. "Get that damned thing out of my eyes, willya?"

The shadow grunted, then backed off. As his eyes adjusted, the shadow formed itself into a doctor in a white lab coat, and he realized he was in a hospital bed surrounded by hospital staff. The beeping noise proved to be coming from a heart monitor and he was hooked up to a bunch of other machines. Most disturbing, he realized his throat was sore because there was some sort of tube that didn't belong there.

He stared at the doctor, suddenly worried. "Who the the hell are you and what's going on?"

The doctor looked at him sympathetically. "I'll tell you everything I can, but you need to take it slowly, do you understand?"

He nodded. "Just tell me. What happened?"

"Let me ask you this, what's the last thing you remember?"

He concentrated. It made his headache worse, but he knew it was important. The problem was, he really couldn't remember much of anything. It was all sort of fuzzy. He shut his eyes. Slowly faces began to come into focus...three faces. And the doctor frowned as tears began to trickle down his patient's face.

Gently he asked, "What are you seeing?"

He shook his head. He was not going to talk about his friends. He cast about instead for the last thing he remembered. "I was sitting at a table eating breakfast. I think it was scrambled eggs and toast. Then… nothing."

The doctor nodded. "Okay. I'm going to ask you some questions… What's your name?"

"It's- uh-" He stared blankly at the doctor for a moment and his eyes went wide with shock. "My name is… I-I, Doc, I can't remember!" His voice took on an edge of panic. "I can't remember my name...who am I? What happened to me?"

The doctor laid a comforting hand on his arm."It's not surprising. You've been through a traumatic experience and the mind often blanks out things that it finds hard to cope with. We'll talk about it and I'm sure we can help you recover your memories. You just need to take it slow. Get some rest, and I'll come back in a couple of hours. We'll talk some more." The doctor smiled sadly at him and left to go and visit his other patients.

He sighed and settled back into the pillows. What he hadn't told the doctor was that he wasn't sure he wanted to remember. The faces he had seen earlier swirled before his eyes again. Oddly, they didn't anger him… or scare him. They filled him with a profound sense of peace, tinged with sadness. There were a few scattered memories centered around these faces. He knew they had been his friends, and he knew they were dead. What had happened to them, he didn't know, but he was sure they were the key to the rest of his lost memories. He grimaced at the sudden pain that lanced through his head. He shut his eyes, and eventually fell into a troubled sleep.

The Doctor's Lounge

Dr. Michael Ross sat back with a groan. He wrapped his hands gratefully around his third cup of coffee for the day. Of course, he only averaged three or four sips out of each cup, so he really didn't get that much per shift. He pondered what to tell his newly awakened coma patient when he visited him next. The young man was obviously suffering from retrograde amnesia… which wasn't surprising, according to what little they knew about what he'd been through when the Towers collapsed. Ross wondered how the man would handle it when he discovered there were over a dozen people anxiously awaiting news of his awakening… of his recovery, and that he was something of a national hero. He glanced at his watch and sighed as he realized he needed to get back to his rounds. He grimaced as he dumped the remains of his coffee in the trash and headed back to work. He sincerely hoped he could figure out what to say to the patient in Room 857 by the time he got there.

Room 857

He tossed and turned restlessly as the nightmare held him in its grip. The air was thick with choking smoke, and he fought for every step. Ceiling tiles and beams were falling around him, and he fell more than once. People were panicking, crying and screaming...pushing against him, trying desperately to find a way out. Suddenly, he spied a bit of light in one corner, on top of a pile of rubble. He was sure it would lead to a stairwell… or at least to somewhere with more air. He clambered his way over to the pile and began to climb. He had made it halfway up when he heard pounding coming from behind the rubble. He stopped, his head tipped in confusion. He stared up at his goal. He was sure he could make it out if he kept going, alone. But the pounding came again, and now he heard some muffled shouting. They were trapped behind the pile of junk he was climbing. Someone needed help. For one moment, he stared longingly at that beacon of light above him. Then with a deep sigh, Face began tearing apart his escape route.

~TBC~


	3. Bridget

**Room 857**

When he awoke this time, things were very different. For one thing, many of his memories were intact. The memories of what had happened that day in the office building when he went after his last target were disjointed and a bit hazy, but they were there. He knew exactly who he was, what he had done to avenge his team. He remembered giving up his own climb to possible freedom in order to guide a group of trapped office workers to safety, including one pregnant woman and a guy he wound up carrying out on his back because the guy was on crutches with a broken ankle.

**September 11, 2001**

**The World Trade Center**

The building was nothing but a maze of smoke and falling debris. The part that spooked him the most was that other than the sounds from his own group, and the sounds the debris and the fire itself made, there was absolute silence… no other people calling out or screaming. No human sounds at all. There was the constant roar of the fire, but nothing else. It had taken hours, or it seemed that way, for them to finally push their way through some rubble to freedom. Later, some of the survivors in their group would learn it had only been a couple of hours… though it had seemed much longer. It was just before they reached the surface that things changed once again for their guide, and his world changed once again...

Face had been shepherding his group towards the surface. He was terribly tired, but optimistic. He and one of the other men in the group had heaved some of the of the junk out of the way and they had actually seen daylight a few minutes ago. He turned to the other man, a young, strong guy named Brett, who had acted as his assistant, helping the pregnant girl, helping her fashion a mask for her to wear over her face and carrying her most of the way, and helping keep some of the others calm when they needed it. "Look, you keep an eye on them. I'm gonna climb up there and see if I can widen out the hole and maybe see if there's somebody up there."

Brett nodded dubiously. He was a little afraid there was nobody left in the world at all. "Yeah, okay. Just be careful, man!"

Face grinned bitterly. "I'm always careful."

He began his slow and steady climb. He made his goal, and indeed he was able to move the junk that was in the way of their freedom. His perch was fairly precarious, but he figured it would hold, if he was lucky. He widened the hole, but didn't dare try to move any higher, to actually crawl out, since that could cause the pile he was standing on to collapse. _God, what he would have given for a couple of ropes!_ He did his best to shore up the handholds around him, and turned to look down at Brett. "Okay, send them up, one at a time. Carefully!"

And up they came, one at a time. They got everyone out...almost. Unbidden tears began to course down his face as the memory of Brett's eyes and that last few minutes flashed through his mind. He knew Brett had realized what was happening… knew he wasn't going to make it. Damn… He should have sent Brett up first. _He should have… _

Face was only vaguely aware that an alarm was going off, and of running feet by his bed, and the voices that rose and fell around him. He felt a cool sensation rush into his arm and then things grew calm and quiet as darkness overtook him.

**Room 857**

**November 2003**

Dr. Michael Ross sighed as he watched his patient succumb to the sedation he'd had his head nurse inject into his IV. He wasn't sure what had caused such a rapid rise in his blood pressure and heart rate, but he wasn't willing to allow the episode to continue for very long. The man was fragile right now, considering he had just awakened after being in a coma for so long. He leafed through the man's chart… though it was hardly necessary. He had practically memorized it, since the patient had been on this floor for longer than Michael had been at this hospital. And two years is a long time.

The odd thing is that he was not quite as frail as Michael would have expected. He had been placed on a feeding tube and full coma protocol before Michael ever arrived. There was a woman who came in to help take care of him nearly every day. She was not a registered physical therapist, and she wasn't family as far as anyone knew, but she was there for him anyway. She made sure had anything he needed, and that the exercises the PTs recommended were carried out. She had even been known to bathe and shave him when the nurses were short handed. She had trimmed his hair on a couple of occasions, but seemed to prefer leaving it a bit shaggy.

When the nurses asked who she was, she simply replied that though she did not know his name, he had been the man who tried to save her brother, Brett. She would say no more, and they left it at that. She talked to him, and it was this woman, whose name was Bridget, who gave the patient the nickname she alone used for him. Bridget was positive that one day he would live up to the name: "Bright Eyes."

Now that the patient was awake, Ross would bet that his memory was coming back. He wondered how Bridget's presence would affect him, how much he remembered about her brother… and exactly what he remembered about the Towers. He also wondered how realizing he had been in a coma for just over two years was going to affect him. He suspected that since Bridget was due in a few hours and the sedative was due to wear off at about the same time, he might get the answers. _He also realized the answers might not be pretty._

**TBC**


End file.
